There is a soft whisper in this wintry air, and all around the quiet world holds its breath. No snowflake drops tonight, but all about this frozen tundra the whisper resounds, growing into a steady scream. Twilight comes, and fire falls into the distant ocean—the fire’s refracted through the ice in a million darting rays.
The day ends, and the scream leaves us all to our silence. No more light but the distant twinkling stars, and her, the inconstant moon. Still men must sing, and men build fires—men conquer the night. Sunset to dusk: Man’s light is gone.